


Storm in my Heart

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-09
Updated: 2002-02-09
Packaged: 2019-05-15 02:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14782227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: PostNoeland sort of a sequel toMidnight.





	Storm in my Heart

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

   


 

**Storm in my Heart**

**by: Allison**

**Character(s):** Josh, Donna  
**Pairing(s):** Josh/Donna  
**Category(s):** Romance  
**Rating:** YTEEN  
**Summary:** Post Noel and sort of a sequel to Midnight. 

We walk slowly away from the White House, her arm tucked securely in mine. Actually I have very little to do with that arrangement. I barely notice she's there; I'm so spaced out right now. But occasionally her grip on me tightens and I look over and she tries to smile, but her face looks kind of pinched. I get the feeling she doesn't feel safe letting go of me just now, and since my hand is out of commission my arm has to do.

She squeezes my arm again. I look up and she gives me that smile - that strange, forgiving, casual, trying-to-get-back-to-normal smile that she flashed Leo as we were leaving. I smile back, because I can. She examines my face unabashedly, looking for signs that I'm faking it. I'm really not. She must see that, because she stops looking.

We don't talk. This is in a way unusual for us, but in a way not, really. I mean, we're both big talkers but it also feels totally normal to walk the streets of DC with Donna and not say a word. I know why, of course. It started during the campaign. Those weeks right before the election, when we spent a lot of time in freezing New Hampshire in November, and Donna had been working with me for nearly eight months. She was starting to learn her role in the grand scheme of things then. Looking back, it was November that she started taking care of me. Before that she was wholly focused on keeping my files in order so I didn't sack her. But in early November I started to go, well, a little on the unhinged side. Stress, you know. It seems I don't respond well. Anyway, I didn't totally flip out (didn't, you know, break anything, like windows) but I stopped eating, stopped sleeping, started smoking (not a lot, of course, about a cigarette a day), started drinking more than I had before. CJ was my companion on a lot of these late night bar sojourns, but as we got closer and closer to the wire she spent more and more time with the press. I started going out alone. Donna noticed. Donna started following me. At first I was annoyed \- this college kid, even though I was grudgingly beginning to like her - had no business stalking me. Damnit, I'd just put her on payroll. But she was surprisingly unobtrusive. Yeah, Donna being unobtrusive. The thing is, she knows the time and place for chatter - usually. And she was still a little afraid of me then. But she started following me to these bars, sitting across from me and watching me nurse two, maybe three drinks slowly, waiting for me to start fading so she could escort me out at my weakest and most submissive. We'd walk back to the hotel, her arm probably in mine just like it is tonight, holding me up. And we wouldn't talk, not at all. Without words she'd walk me to my room, take off my shoes, make sure I collapsed in a position where I could breathe, and then she'd vanish. This started happening nearly every night. We never discussed it. The matter was never mentioned between us.

The night Jed Bartlet was elected President of the United States the brand-new senior staff went crazy. After I'd joined in the general melee (and, as I recall, kissed CJ soundly to the very great delight of the press), I found Donna. She was being quietly ecstatic over in a corner with Margaret, who we all knew Leo wouldn't go to Washington without. Donna gave me a tremulous smile and started to say, "Congratulations," as I came toward her. She never got the word out - I think I nearly suffocated her in my sweater. I picked her up and swung her around, hugging her so tightly I could have counted her ribs. When I set her down I saw the look on her face. She looked sad and worried.

"What?" I asked, concern making its way slowly through my victory elation.

"It's over," she said simply.

"Yeah. It's over. And we won!" I was practically doing a little dance there.

She nodded. "You're going to Washington."

I may be an idiot, but at that point I did get it. I pulled her face close to mine, close enough to rest my forehead against hers, and I whispered, "And who would drag my sorry ass out of every bar in DC if I didn't take you with me?"

Her eyes widened. I really think she wasn't expecting that. "Really?" she asked.

I reached out and rumpled her hair, grinning in delight at the strands that stayed out of place, as if she'd just pulled a shirt over her head. I remember this because that moment of jubilation and shared victory was the last time I really touched her until she threw herself on me at Christmas a year later. "You need to look for apartments in DC," I told her.

Of course, the Deputy Chief of Staff of the White House does not have the luxury of getting his ass dragged out of every bar in the capital. Our late night outings - fortunately for Donna's health and sanity, and probably mine - pretty much ended. But it seems we haven't forgotten how to walk arm-in-arm in silence.

Donna. I smile to myself thinking about her. She really has been there through it all - poor kid. I bet when she promised me she'd be useful she never planned on this. I doubt she expected that three years later she'd be dragging her crazy boss to the hospital to get his self-destructive rage cleaned up and disinfected.

I reach over with my good hand and pat the one that's holding my arm. She smiles indulgently. She's still worried, but for my sake she's doing a pretty good job of hiding it.

There's not much the doctor can do. The cut is too old to be stitched. It's still pretty nasty, though - Donna can't keep herself from gasping and looking away when the nurse unwraps my bandage job and reveals the gash across my palm. I tell them calmly that I did it on glass. I don't look at Donna. Then I do, because if she thinks I'm avoiding her eyes she'll get worried again. I smile at her, then yelp as they pour something antiseptic over my hand. So much for putting up a brave face. She actually laughs.

We're halfway to her apartment before I realize where we're going. "Where are we going?" I ask, in the obvious sense of I know where we're going but why are we going there?

"The super hasn't fixed your window yet," she replies, completely cool. "Your apartment is going to be freezing. You're staying with me."

I'm terrified by how well she's handling this. I go nuts and it's as if I asked her to make some photocopies. "Your roommate won't mind?"

"She went home for Christmas."

Oh. "Why didn't you?"

"Didn't feel like it."

"You were afraid I'd freak while you were gone."

"Yup, pretty much."

Wow, she is being way too casual here. I keep waiting for something to snap.

For some reason I wait until we're in her apartment to say, "I'm sorry I made you stay here."

"You didn't make me."

"But you stayed because of me."

She stops for a minute and looks me up and down, trying to decide whether she should say something or not. I can read her like a book. "Josh," she says finally, "if you had somewhere to go, some occasion, and I - got sick or wound up in the hospital or something, wouldn't you be calling every ten seconds?"

"No," I say, "I'd be with you."

"Exactly." Oh. That was what she meant all along. She just - she knew she could make the point about me caring, but she wasn't sure if I would actually blow something off to be with her. It bothers me that she wasn't sure about that.

"Donna."

She's already puttering around, boiling tea water. "Yeah?"

I can't decide how sentimental it's good to get here. I go with the old standby - say something neutral that gets across the same point as the hearts and flowers. So instead of saying that I should care enough to put my life on hold as she's done for me countless times, I say, "Don't ever not tell me if you need help."

Our eyes meet. She understands. She gets that little smile, the slightly shy one with just a hint of a blush. My assistant is adorable.

We drink tea mostly in silence. I insist on the couch, and she finally relents with the stipulation that I'll wake her if I can't sleep. I love Donna in mothering mode. God knows I saw it enough this summer. As she gets up to go to bed I stop her. "You went to Leo?"

She turns back to me nervously. "I did. Don't be pissed. I was -"

"I'm not pissed. I was - okay, at first I was pissed that Leo was making me talk to this guy, but it helped. It helped a lot. You, uh - you did a good thing."

She smiles a little. "Okay."

For a second we stand looking at each other and then I go and hug her. It's really not clear who's reassuring who, but it doesn't matter. I kiss her forehead and send her to bed before I settle myself on the couch with the spare blanket that smells like Donna's fabric softener. I think it's easier to be here with her tonight than alone at my apartment - the scene of the crime, so to speak. This is - no, it's not even neutral turf, it's - I feel cared for here. I feel her protection. I actually start to fall asleep.

And when I get "Carol of the Bells" stuck in my head and I sit bolt upright in panic, it's actually not because I hear sirens. It's because I just realized that I'm being taken care of by my very lovely and loving assistant who gave up her family Christmas for me and I forgot to get her a Christmas gift. Oops. I am a jerk. Okay, so I was a distracted jerk, but probably a jerk nonetheless.

I lay down thoughtfully. I'll have to remedy this. Nothing will be open tomorrow, but soon.

Christmas morning with Donna is kind of cute. Someone has talked to her - and they did it fast - probably Stanley stopped by and had three words with her while I was talking to Leo - but there is a conspicuous absence of music. What there is, is breakfast and coffee and lots of Donna beaming at me for the very great accomplishment of having slept through the night. I make my exit rather hastily after eating and she looks a little worried and more than a little hurt, but I have a mission. And I have to go see CJ, because she's left nine messages on my machine and the last four sounded a little panicked. And I have to get my window fixed.

CJ lets me into her apartment and hugs me hard. "I'm okay," I tell her. "All better."

She frowns at my obvious exaggeration and says, "Last night -"

"I spent the night at Donna's," I reassure her. "She kidnapped me and took care of me. I was fine."

And then I freeze. She has a CD on. Some kind of folk music is pouring from the stereo. Okay. Obviously no one talked to CJ. Why would they? I strain for a minute, just as I did outside the gates last night. Nothing. Just music. I relax. "This isn't Christmas music."

"No," she says, tugging my coat off and prodding me inside. "It's a CD of Irish women singers."

"Oh." I really don't have a lot to say to that. She leaves to put tea on - what is it with women and making me tea? - and I settle on the couch. The woman singing has a deep, smooth, but otherwise not uncommon voice. "Who is this singing?" I ask to be polite.

CJ's brow furrows as she rummages through a cabinet. "Don't know. The next one is someone called Delores Keane though."

She takes a while to make the tea. The next song, the one apparently sung by Delores Keane, starts up. It starts with something about the stormy wind and the raging sea, and something about rain lashing my face. The odd rhythm of the words catches my attention - plus I'm really enjoying the fact that this isn't making me want to panic - and I listen more intently. She says something about bones breaking and burning skin, and I think, wow, this song is really kind of strange.

As if on cue, CJ yells from the kitchen, "I love the lyrics."

Okay.

"You bind up my wounds with your healing hands  
You whisper sweet words all in the dark  
You raise me up and you calm me down  
You're starting a storm in my heart"

I'm still not sure I know where Delores is going with this - until the chorus, which is really just her repeating "a storm in my heart" a bunch of times. But now I get the beginning, all that stuff about the storm and getting beaten and battered and then the second person picking you up. And then the storm is on the inside because now you have this thing with this person that you don't understand, you just have feelings rushing all around that don't make sense. But you're safe. And that makes sense. Sing it, Delores.

Which she does almost without background music, just her harmonizing with what sounds like a bunch of guys. It has that otherworldly quality of a lot of Irish folk that goes straight to your center, and I realize with no little glee that music is having an effect on me and it has nothing to do with flashbacks of getting shot. This is good stuff.

It goes on:

"The ghosts are there behind my back  
Racing clouds all in the night  
Breaking waves on the lonesome shore  
That leave the spirit bright.  
You touch the pulse and lift the clouds  
You whisper sweet words all in the dark  
You chase away the hungry wolves  
You're starting a storm in my heart"

Okay, so we've established I'm not so quick on the uptake sometimes. But even I get eventually that this song is affecting me because it might as well be about me and the shooting and everything that happened after. And I'm thinking as CJ hands me a cup of tea that I'm so lucky I have all these friends to pick me up like the second person in the song. This is a spiritual moment. Delores is my goddess. I grin at my best friend and thank God for her, and Donna -

Donna. Yeah. I mean, if there's anyone who really took care of me, I think we all know it was her. Donna in full-scale protective overdrive. All of a sudden the line of the song that didn't really mean anything the first time, the one about whispering in the dark, on the second repetition calls up images of Donna leaning over my bed in the middle of the night those first harrowing days home, soothing my nightmares and putting me back to sleep. And by the time Delores hits this repeat of the "you're starting a storm in my heart" bit in full semi-mystical harmony, my mind is full of images of my adorable, caring, maddening, gentle, sarcastic, sweet assistant. I think my heart actually skips a beat. I told you I'm not very quick. But I get it now. I still can't quite sort these feelings out - that's what the song is about, after all, about having these feelings for someone that rock your entire existence to the core but rush around you not making sense - but I know that they're there. "CJ," I say a little too urgently, "what's this CD called?"

I can't believe a song did this.

When Donna comes into work on the 26th, she looks at me a little awkwardly. I can understand that. I mean, she took care of me and was sweet and perfect and everything I needed and then I busted out and haven't talked to her since yesterday morning. Plus I'm late, and I can see that she was worried. She probably didn't call me last night because she was trying to give me some space, but I bet she called CJ to see how I was. Well, I have a reason for being late and I know how to handle this.

I lean over her shoulder to put a small, flat, CD-shaped package into her hands. "It's late, but Merry Christmas," I say. Then I scoot into my office and close the door. Not all the way. I peek through the crack and watch her.

She opens the note on top slowly. I stood in the music store at nine this morning composing it.

"Donnatella,

There are a lot of things I need to say to you and I don't have the words. Fortunately someone else does. Just follow directions. Open this and put it in the CD drive - there are headphones in the Communications bullpen. Listen to the eighth track before you do anything else.

Merry Christmas.

Love,  
Josh"

She furrows her brow in confusion, which is very cute and makes her look about ten. She unwraps the CD slowly - yes, obviously it's the same one I heard at CJ's. It's actually an anthology called "Holding Up Half the Sky." She mouths the words to herself. Holding up half the sky. Yes, you do, Donnatella. You really do. She sets the CD on her desk and goes looking, presumably, for Cathy. I'm practically squirming with anticipation. She returns with a set of headphones, glances at my mostly-closed door without catching me, and sets herself up to find the track. I watch her face as she strains to catch the words. For a few harrowing moments it remains completely blank. I think I can tell when, half a minute in, she hits the "you bind up my wounds" part. I know I can tell when she gets to the chorus, because her eyes widen a little and she starts to blink rapidly. The last verse is a little disturbing at first, but I liked it a lot. I think I know when she hears it because she starts really fighting to keep the tears back.

"The timber is weak and the sails are torn  
Ready to betray my loving trust  
To fix the rope around my neck  
And deliver me to my rest"

I realize that if I strain I can hear enough of the melody to tell where in the song she is. I was right, she's just getting to the next part:

"I fall forever in the night  
You whisper sweet words all in the dark"

I don't know why that one line is repeated in each verse, but this third time it really makes an impact - I don't know, maybe she's finally conjured up the same image I did. Her hand flies up to her mouth and she doesn't move for the remainder of the song.

"You brave the night of time and tide  
You've started a storm in my heart."

It ends with another repetition of the chorus, that achingly beautiful harmony. By the time Donna clicks off the CD function and slides the headphones off she's barely able to hide her tears. I rush to make it back to my desk, because she's coming my way - probably desperate to keep the rest of the bullpen from seeing her cry.

I don't look up until I hear the door close behind her. She opens her mouth and tries to say something, but the words won't come and she just shakes her head. I stand and come around the desk and she rushes, predictably, into my arms.

"Josh," she manages to say after a moment, but she's still crying. It's been a long couple of days and now that she's finally started she can't stop. I rub her back and kiss her hair.

"I'm sorry I never told you how much -" Oh God, now I'm tearing up. I stop to regain control. "I just didn't know how."

Her arms tighten around me and she buries her face in my neck. "Thank you."

I haven't given up yet. "I needed you to know I don't take you for granted."

"I know," she says softly, not moving from my embrace. That's okay with me.

"Good." I rest my cheek against her head and hold her a while longer. "Good."


End file.
